


Fragments

by Lagerstatte



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Death, Fever, Injury, M/M, Magic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26570971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/pseuds/Lagerstatte
Summary: Ignis knows he can defy the gods, and turn away the prophecy. Surely he can — he just needs to find out how.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autumnstwilight (sewohayami)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewohayami/gifts).



> With all the thanks to my beta, Gooseberry <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

As it turns out, the mine where the Crystal had sprung forth two millennia ago is about half an hour from Insomnia’s northwest gate. The gate will likely never open again, and Insomnia is structurally unsound, difficult to impossible to navigate by car, so Ignis and his driver — a hunter who almost makes up for not being Gladio or Prompto with her quick-wittedness and intellect — take the long route around the outside.

The mine doesn’t have a name — or, more precisely, it presumably had a name at one point, but that name is now lost from the records. For all its place in world history as the origin location of the single most powerful and important item in existence, it’s been all but forgotten, dropped from public consciousness — and if paper records had existed in archival libraries, in the Citadel, they’re gone now. There are fairy-tales, provincial stories local to a very specific area that sound much like any other provincial story specific to a local area, except for the echoes of things that sound a lot like Royal magic. Stories of unimaginable riches being found in the rock. The mines had been shut down after the discovery of the Crystal, and Vigil, the mining town it had supported, had died. Its stories lingered on, if barely.

It had taken years to track down even that information. It’s sketchy at best, but he knows that the Crystal had appeared on Lucian territory, and nowhere else has anything better. A story is meagre evidence, but it’s something. He hopes, as he sits in the passenger seat, hearing but not seeing the world pass by through the windows, that he’s not too late.

It’s hot and humid, warm, wet air rolling in from the sea, but the wind from the open windows makes it bearable. Nostalgic longing pains him, an internal bruise. Deep in his lungs, maybe. He tries not to let his feet seek out pedals that aren’t there, and his hands itch to control the wheel. He’s never liked being in the passenger seat, and especially not in a beaten-up truck that sounds like it’s struggling to carry its own weight, let alone two passengers and their camping equipment. Thankfully, the journey isn’t long. The roads become dirt tracks, but never anything the groaning, straining truck can’t manage, and Ignis is taken by surprise when they pull over and stop. It seems almost insultingly easy.

It turns out the entrance to the mine is bricked up, but even that’s not a significant barrier. The hunter helps him clear a small hole, big enough for Ignis to squeeze through and small enough that it will not — hopefully — affect the structural integrity of the site. She lends him an appreciated but unnecessary hand in killing a small pack of alphatusk that were attracted by the noise. After, they load the bodies onto the truck so she can dump them somewhere else. It wouldn’t do to attract other beasts right to him.

‘Very well,’ Ignis says. ‘Thank you again.’ The hunter has remained unfailingly polite, but he can sense that she’s eager to leave, to not hang around, let alone step foot inside. He’s equally impatient to press on and enter the mine. Though he’s not connected to the Crystal, and to suggest he is would be near blasphemy, he can imagine it’s drawing him in. Reeling him in, a fish on a hook. What’s left of it, anyway. 

Though the Crystal was moved to Insomnia, the stories of magic didn’t end when it was removed. The mines had glowed with strange light for as long as there were people around to see it. Children going out to play and disappearing, only to reappear years later. Normal, low-born people gaining strange powers, magic, the blessing of the gods. Perhaps that had been why the mine was shut down. When Ignis had brought up such stories, half of the time he was laughed at and the other half faced with an impatient anger. No one had much time for blasphemous stories these days. Prompto hadn’t known what he was talking about, but Gladio had gone silent, then told him to drop it.

Ignis can’t drop it, though. Not when there’s a chance, in the end, that perhaps the magic is still there. That there are fragments of the Crystal left in these old mines, removed from the main body of the Crystal, the Astral’s gift to the Lucian throne. That he can wield the magic, and return Noct to them, and keep him safe. That he can turn away the prophecy and defy the gods.

He’s already used one magic artefact to defy the Lucii, an illegal move in a game he has no right to be playing. Why not step up again, now the stakes are even higher?

The Crystal acts as a power source, but also as a gateway. If it can take him to where Noct is — if he can learn more, understand better — if he can be with Noct again—

It’s been so long.

The hunter drives away, leaving him alone. She says she’ll be back in a week. Ignis is sure she will be, but also equally sure that she doesn’t expect to find him alive when she does. No matter. She’s just a hunter, born and bred Duscaen. She doesn’t know how the Crownsguard are taught, trained. She doesn’t know Noct.

He has the gear: his cane, camping equipment, food, water, medical supplies — no curatives, not any longer — and his notes and references. Paper to deboss a map on. His daggers, a polearm. He sets up camp outside, because he’s not sure he’ll find anywhere suitable inside, and even if his first expedition inside doesn’t end badly he’ll still appreciate not having to struggle with the tent on his return.

Before entering he pauses, gathering his thoughts.

The old stories of the mine generally link magic with glowing, or some kind of light. What else could that be but the Crystal? Stories of children being lured in by will-o-the-wisps and returning to the village with strange powers. Stories of magical light within the hills that enchants anyone who catches sight of it. It’s only too bad, Ignis thinks. A noise or other indication would have been a lot more useful to him than glowing. Still, he’s been blind for a long time, now. He won’t let it stand in his way.

He’s tired — exhausted, really — but he won’t let that stop him, either.

Underground, the moment he squeezes past the brick wall, it’s cold. The humidity turns to dampness, leeching the warmth from his skin. He wonders how deep he’ll have to go, and whether the fragments of the Crystal left behind will be obvious to him, if they’re even still here. If they’re even still connected to magic, and the gods. If this will just be yet another dead end.

He’s on high alert, so he hears the sahagin before he encounters them. The tunnel is rough, bits of loose rock littering the floor, and the path slopes down. Given the gradient and the sahagin, it’s more than likely at least some of the lower levels have flooded. Perhaps he should have had someone describe a geological map of the area to him, so he’d know if the rocks are permeable, if flooding and cave-ins are likely. He hopes what he’s looking for isn’t underwater or already buried.

It’s not hard to avoid the sahagin; the tunnel branches and he takes the route away from the sound of them. Still, now that he knows there’s danger here, he can’t help but imagine everything else that he might run into if he lets his guard down. What might be stalking him in the dark. He thinks, very clearly, of the sharp claws and electricity of coeurls tearing into his back. What’s watching him in silence as he passes.

He thinks of Prompto, complaining about the dark, tight places they had to traverse all those years ago, and the way they’d all ribbed him for it. It’s darker than ever now, and he doesn’t have anyone at his back. Prompto had mentioned several times of his fear of rockfall, crushing them all. Back then he’d been apprehensive but able to ignore it, especially given keeping calm was a matter of pride as much as appearing in control and reliable. Now, he doesn’t need to keep face, but can’t bring himself to care. It is what it is.

The loneliness, though, is incredible. It’s so quiet.

He walks, and walks. He draws a map, noting down branches in the route, though for now it’s hardly a maze. There’s no point in risking missing anything because of carelessness.

He finds there are multiple entrances — or, as it were, exits. Ignis marks the most recent one he has found on his map, stands still for a moment so he can breathe in the warm, sea-salt air, and then heads back inside.

The cold and damp close over him, swallowing him whole.

He’s about to backtrack, call it a day, find his way to the first entrance and make camp, when he comes across the cavern. The wall drops away from his outstretched hand; his skin prickles, though whether from cold or heat he can’t tell. It’s dizzying; his head swims. He turns and stumbles as he walks.

The grootslang, or perhaps midgardsormr, takes him completely by surprise.

Ignis is flung bodily against the wall, and he falls, curling as he hits the floor. His head is ringing with the impact. His back hurts fiercely. He thinks he’s bleeding from the impact, clothes torn, but it’s hard to tell when his whole body is shaken and bruised.

Luckily, it doesn’t seem like the snake can burrow into the hard stone floor of the mine. It comes for Ignis and tries to wrap around and constrict him, and he uses his polearm to stab at its face, aiming for the eyes. Its scales are cold and wet, like the stone surrounding them come to life. He remembers how effortlessly Noct had been able to fight beasts such as this with his ability to warp, and how much they’d relied on Prompto’s ranged weapons.

He kills it, eventually, and slumps against the wall to catch his breath. Breathing deep suggests at least a couple of ribs are broken, and there are definitely patches on his back with skin missing. Damn. Hair sticks to his face, and his hand is shaking and oddly numb when he pushes his hair back. Doesn’t feel like poison, though. Never mind. Never mind any of that. He’s found what he was looking for, he’s certain of it.

The cavern is drunk with the overwhelming presence of magic. It saturates the air, covering every wall like paint. It’s thick and difficult to breathe through. It is the Crystal’s magic, which means it’s magic of the Lucii. It’s Noct’s magic — so familiar it hurts far worse than broken ribs. Ignis is brought to his knees, and he crawls forwards, forgetting the pain he’s in.

He’s not sure what he’s looking for, but he can feel it, and he knows if he could see he would see the cavern bathed in holy light.

Something hard and sharp under his palm. It cuts his flesh as he scrabbles at the grit and stone it’s buried in. Then he’s falling.

‘ _Ignis?_ ’

Noct’s voice. Noct’s hands, lifting Ignis’ head. Ignis opens his eyes, and for a brief, startling moment, is confused as to why he’s blind. The moment passes. He reaches out and finds Noct’s shoulder, warm and solid. Noct’s wearing a shirt, soft, thin enough Ignis can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric and trace the line of his collarbone to Noct’s throat, and then around to cradle the nape of his neck.

‘Noct,’ Ignis says, his name spilling out as worship.

‘What’re you doing here?’ Noct asks, sounding unreasonably upset even as Ignis finds himself laughing, pulling Noct down into his arms. He smells heartbreakingly nostalgic. Like he had back before they’d left Insomnia and everything had gone wrong. ‘Ignis, what — what happened? You’re not meant to be here.’

‘I’m fine; I came looking for you,’ Ignis says into the crook of Noct’s neck, and kisses his skin there. He had known he missed Noct, and had lived in darkness without him, but the sheer violence of this happiness is breathtaking. His heart beats like it might burst from the joy it’s feeling. He can feel tear tracks on his face, though he has no recollection of when he started crying.

‘But what happened?’ Noct asks again. He’s clinging to Ignis, and Ignis holds him back tightly. He’s overwhelmed, his throat tight, unable to speak. He doesn’t care; he has Noct. Noct is in his arms again. Noct is here.

Later, when they disentangle a little, Ignis manages to explain himself. ‘When the Crystal was taken from the earth where it had emerged, fragments were left.’ He sits up. His head spins a little, the floor not quite solid. Noct makes a sound, but it’s hard to tell what kind, exactly.

‘But the Crystal,’ Noct says, and then stops, as if not knowing how to finish.

‘Well, yes,’ Ignis says. ‘Still, it seems the fragments weren’t considered a part of the whole, but instead were shards of magic that were discarded and forgotten.’

‘Well that’s dumb,’ Noct says, with a fragile sort of laugh, and the sound of it swells Ignis’ heart until it aches.

‘And yet, I’m hardly complaining,’ Ignis says, ‘as it appears they still hold the ability to be used as gateways. A link from there to here, as it were. Truth be told I wasn’t sure it would work. If indeed it were still magical, and that the magic wouldn’t reject me, and then that the magic could be used for the purposes I wished. Yet it did work, though I’m hardly qualified, and thus, here I am. Though I will admit I’m not sure how long it will last for, or indeed how to get back if it doesn’t just wear off.’

‘I can’t believe you,’ Noct says, still with incredulous laughter. ‘Only you, Ignis. Only you.’

Ignis resists the urge to preen, and says instead, ‘Where are we?’ They’re on hardwood floor, and the smell he recognises immediately as Noct’s apartment in Insomnia. All these years have passed, and he still remembers the exact smell. Still, this being not reality after all — Noct’s actual apartment being long in ruins — he can’t be certain.

‘Uh,’ Noct says. He moves, and Ignis gets the idea he’s looking around. ‘My old place, I guess. It’s kinda weird being back. It’s been so long since I lived here, but then again, not like I’ve lived anywhere since, either.’

That smarts. He forgets, sometimes, how young they were when they left Insomnia. Reaching out with both arms, Ignis draws Noct in so that his head is tucked under Ignis’ chin. ‘Forgive me,’ he says.

‘What for?’ Noct pulls free. ‘Not like it’s your fault. C’mon, there’s the couch right there. Why’d you have to appear in the middle of the floor?’

Ignis gets up obligingly, letting Noct tug on his arm. ‘I didn’t come to pay a social visit,’ he says. ‘I need to find out more. I need to understand… your death, at the end of the prophecy—’

Noct stops tugging. They stand there, still on the hard floorboards. Really, if they are in Noct’s old living room, he should be able to find his own way to the sofa. He’s still not entirely convinced they are there. The concept of furniture, walls, doors, anything other than the floor and Noct’s body, is nebulous and indefinite. He could cross the room and find exactly what he remembers, or he could cross it and find nothing. A void.

‘What are you talking about?’ Noct asks.

‘The prophecy is… there should be other ways. The Astrals interpreted it one way, but that’s not to say there aren’t others.’

‘No,’ Noct says. ‘No — Ignis.’ His voice is stern for a moment, and Ignis thinks how much he’s grown, how he’s become a man, how noble and kind a king he should have been. Then the sternness fades as Noct laughs, small chuckles, wry and wearily amused. ‘I should have known,’ he says, ‘if you turned up, of course you’d be here to try rules-lawyer the gods.’

‘I made it here,’ Ignis says, torn between being ruffled and charmed by Noct’s laughter. ‘I proved that that is indeed possible. Why not the prophecy? We need not change it entirely. Only a small twist, at the end.’

‘You dumbass,’ Noct says, fond and warm, and it breaks Ignis’ heart. ‘It’s okay. I’ve accepted it. I don’t mind dying.’

‘I mind,’ Ignis says, and feels himself flush at how stupid he sounds. ‘You are the king. You should’ve been so much more.’

Noct’s hand cups Ignis’ face. ‘Nah,’ he says. ‘I am sorry, though. The Astrals are dicks.’

‘You wouldn’t change fate, then, even if you could? You wouldn’t choose to live?’

Noct is silent as he leads them across the room, and the void gives way just a little more, revealing Noct’s sofa. Noct lounges across the length of it and Ignis slots himself against him, between his legs. It feels real. It really does feel like this is Noct.

‘If you had the choice,’ Ignis says again when Noct is silent. ‘You really would choose death?’

Noct breaths out. It ruffles Ignis’ hair, tickling the side of his neck. ‘I don’t have the choice,’ he says. ‘But okay. Sure. If I did, I’d go back with you and live. Not as king, though.’

Hope bursts to life in Ignis’ chest, like the blue fire of havens. It’s only when it’s kindled that Ignis realises it was been missing before, cold and dead.

He reaches up to grasp Noct’s hands, giving them a squeeze. ‘I won’t fail you,’ he says, and turns so he’s on his stomach, bracing his forearms on the armrest. Noct’s hands trail across his back, stoking him.

‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he says. ‘I’m serious, Specs. I’m not that important. And don’t argue, or I’ll kick you out.’

‘You can’t,’ Ignis says, though of course, he doesn’t actually know. He’s just calling Noct’s bluff, like he always had.

Noct huffs a gentle, fond laugh. ‘Yeah I can,’ he says. ‘You don’t belong here, and I do.’

Suddenly frightened of the possibility, Ignis leans down far enough that he can feel Noct’s breath against his lips. ‘But not yet. I was meant to try and work with you, and understand how we can do this.’

Noct just loops his arms over the back of Ignis’ head and pulls him down into a kiss. ‘Relax,’ he says when they part. ‘You are okay, aren’t you? I mean, you’re on some stupid mission to defy the Astrals, but you’re… fine, right?’

‘I’m fine,’ Ignis says, impatient to chase a second kiss.

‘And the others? What about Gladio and Prompto? Cindy?’

‘Also fine,’ Ignis says. ‘They’re all getting on with their lives, I suppose. Rebuilding.’

‘You suppose?’ Noct says pointedly, but rewards Ignis with his second kiss anyway, though it’s briefer than the first. Ignis undoes Noct’s shirt with one hand, still bracing himself with the other. He needs to be learning about everything he can, using Noct’s intimate knowledge of the Crystal and Astrals and death, but instead he can’t stop himself from touching Noct, learning about Noct’s body instead. Noct obliges him, arching up like a cat, breath quickening as Ignis draws gasps and moans from him.

They fuck, a little clumsy, awkward as two grown men and not gangly teenagers on the sofa, but it’s like coming home. Noct’s skin, his body, the sounds he makes, the way he moves, his arousal and orgasm — Ignis grasps at them all, trying to take everything, hoard everything, as desperately greedy as a drowning man is greedy for land. They lie together in the afterglow afterwards, dozing, lazy and stupid with comfort even though he knows he ought to be working.

He wakes up in the cavern, the stench of the dead snake thick in the air, its blood clotting under his hands as he pushes himself to his feet. He’s shaky, sickly; his heart is beating rabbit-fast, just a gentle nudge away from failure. His head swims. His whole body is numb, spongy-feeling, filled with gravel. The radiant glow of the Crystal fragments bathes him, he knows without having to see. He also knows finding another fragment and returning straight to Noct will kill him, the same way he knows throwing himself from a skyscraper is fatal.

He wants to anyway, but killing himself won’t do Noct any good. He tells himself this as he forces his stiff, rubbery legs to move, leaning heavily against the wall so he doesn’t topple over. It takes an age to walk anywhere, his body worsening, not getting better, and he’s not sure if it’s water from the tunnel walls or blood that’s getting on his map, but a bit of liquid damage won’t hurt its readability, so he ignores it.

Where are the others? Are they also hurt? Do they need his help? No — no, he’s alone. But he’s just been with Noct. He’s sure he’s just been with Noct.

The sahagin almost take him by surprise, and he’s barely able to jerk back and not be dragged down into the water. Somehow he escapes; somehow he makes it back to the brick wall on his feet, but after squeezing back through the gap he’s on his hands and knees, and he crawls into the tent. The numbness has turned into frightening shakiness, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

He forces himself to drink some water, though he slops the majority of it down his front. He gets off his shoes after fumbling with the laces with swollen, uncooperative fingers. Then he lies down and falls unconscious.

His dreams are jumbled, confusing. He wakes over and over, struggling to breathe, utterly disorientated. It’s dark. He’s sweating, overheated, but as much as he claws and pulls at his clothes he can’t get them off. He thinks, in a brief, lucid moment, that perhaps his plan to use the Crystal hadn’t been as successful as he’d hoped. Then he slips back under. He’s unbearably thirsty. His whole body hurts. Who’s hurting him? Is it Niflheim?

He’s not sure how long it takes before he wakes properly, ravenously hungry and with a pounding dehydration headache. He sits up, drinks, and nibbles on some of his supplies as he stretches out his sore body. A cooked breakfast would be nice, he thinks, but even if he had the energy he’s missing the ingredients. Also, he’s not sure his body can physically handle it. Still, the thought is nice.

The memory of Noct’s old apartment — the smell of it — brings back an acute longing for the things they had, back before. Quality food. A wide variety of food. Soft, clean, tailored clothes, daily. Games that ran on technology more advanced than a pack of cards. Not having to think about surviving, and hunger, and what if Gladio never comes back from the hunt? What if the airship from Niflheim returns and Prompto isn’t on it? What about Noct?

Once Ignis’ stomach is quietened and he feels a little stronger he eats some more, then sets about washing himself and his dishes as best he can. He’s stiff, as if bruised all over, but that might well be from the fight with the grootslang. It probably is, in fact. Ignis takes a few deep breaths, trying not to wince as they aggravate his damaged ribs and the scabs melding his shirt to his skin. His ribs are definitely broken, but not severely, and there isn’t much he can do about it either way. Treating the minor wounds on his back is awkward and uncomfortable, but he manages to disinfect and cover them. Not for the first time, he thinks wistfully back to when they had all the curatives they could wish for. Now he’ll just have to take better care not to run into anything dangerous.

He fails almost immediately.

Impatient to get going — to see Noct again, to get one step closer to defying the gods — he memorises the route with his finger even before he’s ten metres into the tunnel from the bricked up entrance. The havocfang take him by surprise.

They rush him; Ignis is thrown onto his back, ribs alight with pain at the impact, and he reaches up to stop a leathery face filled with finger-long teeth from seizing him by the neck. Long, wet fur falls over his face and body, the thin, twisting tongue lashes his face, and he shoves but can’t force the beast off of him. If he takes away a hand to grab his dagger it will be able to overpower him, he realises. There’s a long, thready howling somewhere to his right. A third havocfang grabs his leg, and its teeth sink bone-deep.

Ignis bends, drawing up his uninjured leg to get his foot against the first havocfang’s chest, and kicks it off him. He draws his daggers, grabs the beast still tearing into his leg by its mane, and stabs it through the spine. It dies with its teeth still in him, and that slows him down enough that he’s still on the ground when the next attacks. He has his blades braced for it, and it all but runs onto them; over the snarling and yelping, he can hear the sound of blood splatter on the stone floor.

It withdraws, and he slices low, taking off a foreleg. He hears the click of the last havocfang’s claws behind him, and gets to his feet just in time to stab down through the top of its chest, just before it can reach him. It dies, shieking. The one with three legs has limped off. Ignis hears it retreat. He could throw a dagger at it to finish it off, but blood loss will probably do that anyway.

Once he’s sure it’s safe, Ignis takes a breath and bends, probing at the wound on his leg. Not good. The punctures aren’t too bad, but half are torn when the havocfang had shook him. He’ll need to go back and treat them, to stop the bleeding at the very least.

It feels like the worst kind of failure to turn and limp back to his tent, where the majority of his medical supplies are. It’s fine; Noct is out of harm’s way. A little extra time won’t matter. But wasted time is still agonising.

He washes out the wounds with clean water and the strongest disinfectant he has — iodine solution, which hurts worse than the havocfang’s teeth had. A stitch or two for each puncture, and then a clean gauze pad, and finally bandages wrapping the gauze in place and providing some pressure. Ignis sits back for a long moment, allowing himself to be dizzy from the pain, and reminds himself to breathe deep, even though it aggravates his ribs. It wouldn’t do to get pneumonia on top of everything else.

When he gets up to try a second time to reach the chamber, the Crystal fragments, and Noct, barely half an hour passes before he feels his flesh give, tear around the stitches, and blood soak into the bandage. That shouldn’t be happening. Never mind. He just wants to find Noct again. He’ll be more careful this time. He knows the exact route now and doesn’t have to waste time getting lost.

He avoids the sahagin, limps his way to the cavern, and, head already swimming in the raw magic, locates a fragment. The stench of the grootslang is truly foul, but his heart is light and brimming with excitement. Maybe he can do this. Surely he can save Noct. This time, he’ll be more productive. He can do it. He might actually do it.

The possibility that he can’t is too unbearable to consider. It still waits for him, lingering just out of reach.

Noct finds him, and they’re in Duscae this time, on one of the havens. Ignis isn’t sure which — he’s still blind, but his body is otherwise whole and free of pain.

‘Are you controlling our location?’ he asks. They’re lying in the tent, side-by-side. It’s lovely and intimate, but Ignis can’t help but feel a little bereft without Gladio and Prompto. Which is silly, of course, given the circumstances. Still.

‘Nah. Don’t think so, anyway.’ Noct moves his arm — a shrug. ‘It’s hard to explain. I mean, it’s… real, but not, at the same time. You have more control, but not that much more.’

Ignis hums, though it was hardly the most satisfactory of answers. If they’d been teenagers, young and urgent, with Ignis trying to be Noct’s mentor on top of everything else, he would have pressed for a better answer. ‘Tell me,’ he asks instead, ‘are the Astrals present, here?’

‘Yeah,’ Noct says. For all his reticence last time, he seems happy enough to work with Ignis now. ‘They’re around… you sometimes see them. Not sure they can see us, though.’

‘I see,’ Ignis says, feeling himself frown.

The difficult thing is, Ignis knows, he’s just grasping at straws. He hasn’t any idea on how to break the prophecy; he’d hoped that he’d get this far and then inspiration would strike, or some new information present itself that would lead to a breakthrough. Leaving it all up to chance isn’t his style, and he hates it, but he can’t help it either. He really doesn’t know how to fix this.

Maybe if he’d planned more thoroughly, or studied more extensively, or tried harder — maybe if he’d simply been better, then he would already know what to do. Instead he’s floundering, and he can’t save Noct like this.

‘What about Carbuncle? Umbra?’

‘Huh.’ Noct sits up and whistles. Ignis waits, expectant as an audience at a magic show, but nothing happens.

‘Dunno,’ Noct says eventually, lying down again, sounding a little sheepish. Ignis tries not to feel disappointed. ‘I feel like Carbuncle at least should be here, and Umbra… maybe? But it’s not like I’ve ever just been able to summon either of them at will.’

‘Didn’t Carbuncle appear to you in your sleep?’ Ignis asks. Then he asks about Gentiana, and Shiva, and even Lunafreya. He asks about Regis, and Somnus. He holds Noct’s hand and feels where the Ring of the Lucii ought to be, though privately he’s fiercely glad it’s absent. Noct is king enough just by himself. He doesn’t need any trinket to prove his worth, let along that ring.

They talk, and talk. ‘Where is everyone else?’ Ignis asks.

Noct makes an embarrassed sound. ‘Around. Actually, I kinda did that on purpose. I wanted to keep you to myself.’

Ignis finds himself smiling, helpless to stop it. ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Anything Your Majesty desires.’

Still, as much as he finds himself warm and comfortable, basking in the presence of Noct, whom he loves more than anything in the world, he’s aware that time is running out. There’s only so long he can stay here, and only so many trips he can make back and forth in the mine. The fear niggles in the back of his head, persistent. He can leave for Hammerhead, get more supplies, and come back. Maybe he can even convince Prompto or Gladio to come with him and guard his back. 

Noct sighs. ‘You’re really not meant to be here,’ he says, and the mood turns dour.

‘What brought that along?’ Ignis says, trying to be jovial in the face of it, but he’s aware he mostly sounds fake.

‘The fact that you’re not meant to be here?’ Noct replies, and rolls so he’s on his side, facing Ignis. ‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I really do, and… yeah, I’m not protesting too hard, since I get to be with you when I’m not meant to. But I’m serious. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I don’t know enough to say it won’t.’

‘Something bad already happened to me,’ Ignis says without thinking. ‘You were taken from me.’

‘That doesn’t count,’ Noct says, and he whacks Ignis on the chest. ‘This is where the Astrals are. You know the Astrals are dickheads.

I don’t think they can even tell you’re here, but what if they can? What if they decide to fuck you over because this counts as trespassing or some shit?’

Ignis can’t think of an answer to that, so he says nothing.

‘It’s not like we won’t see each other again eventually,’ Noct says. He’s carefully sounding out each word, trying to place them as carefully as possible. They still land like blows. ‘So I think… I think it’s better you stop trying. I’m sorry. Let go.’

‘I can’t let go,’ Ignis says. His earnestness is humiliating, but it’s the truth, and it pours from his mouth like water.

‘It was already decided from the beginning. You can’t change it.’

‘Why not? I feel like I can, if I can only work out how—’

‘It’s already too late,’ Noct says. ‘Ignis, it was already decided. The Astrals made their choice. I’m sorry.’

It’s a betrayal, not from the gods but from Noct himself. Ignis closes his eyes, his mouth a tight line, barely controlled. It’s fine; it’s fine. He can still do this. He can work it out. He’s here — that’s half the solution already. He’s found a way here. All he needs to do is to find a way to get Noct out. His hands make fists in the sleeping bag below them.

‘This is not how it was meant to go,’ he says. ‘You were meant to be king. We were meant to be happy.’

Noct places a hand on Ignis’ arm. ‘Except not really,’ he says, like an apology.

Ignis comes to in the cold and wet. He staggers out of the cavern, leaving behind the smell of blood, until the only scent is the dead rock that surrounds him, deep and waterlogged.

At some point, he becomes lost. He slowly realises he’s in a new part of the mines entirely, and he doesn’t know how to get back. His leg burns in agony; he tries to tighten the bandages to slow the bleeding, but there’s only so much he can do. He can’t feel the map under his fingertips. He trips, and falls, and gets up. 

He should go back to the cavern rather than his camp. Noct should be his priority. He’s burning up, though. He puts his forehead against the wall; it’s icy cold. He’s shaking. He feels like he’s going to die.

Retrace his steps. He left a trail of blood. A hound could track it by scent. It’s so dark. The echos ring in his ears, deafening. He’s going in circles. He finds a ladder and climbs down part way, and falls the rest. Where’s he going? He’s lost.

He just wants to find Noct and bring him back. That’s all he wants. Just that. Just Noct.

He can hear the crying of a wounded animal, but can’t find it. It’s following him. 

When Ignis returns to himself he’s lying on his back, exhaustion bone-deep. His leg throbs, flesh hard and hot under his fingers, revealing infection on top of blood loss. There’s a thin layer of water on the walls and floor, and he soaks the sleeve of his shirt in it and sucks at the fabric. Maybe if he heads further down the water will have collected into a pool where he can drink properly.

He’s already gone down into the mine, though. He remembers, very distantly, a ladder. That means he needs to go up to return.

It takes a long time for an otherwise healthy human to starve to death, Ignis knows. Of course, blood loss will reduce that time, but not by that much. He has water, even if it is painfully frustrating to gather, and that’s all he really needs until he can get back. It’s not too cold, either, so death from exposure is also unlikely. Really, being lost down here shouldn’t matter that much. The only problem will be if he’s here so long that he misses his hunter when she returns to pick him up.

It’s silent, and Ignis’ head fills up with every tiny sound his body makes. He can hear his heart beating and stomach groan. His breathing is abominably loud. When he stumbles the pain becomes overwhelming, sending him to the floor, biting back pathetic, small sounds until eventually he makes himself get up and start walking again. At some point he stops, lies down, and goes to sleep. He wakes up, gets up, and carries on walking. He is desperately lost. He carves directions for himself at each branch of the tunnel with his daggers, blunting them, but no matter what he does, he can’t find the ladder. He goes to sleep, and wakes up. His head is thick with fog. He trips and falls, and the pain makes him retch, and retching is agonising.

He never finds the ladder, but another path up, taken entirely by chance. All of a sudden he realises he recognises the tunnel he’s in, and from there he manages to find the cavern, if with a couple of wrong turns and backtracking. It feels like a dream. He’s not entirely sure he’s not still down there.

He hasn’t eaten in — well, it might be three days, but he doubts he’d managed to keep a regular sleep schedule. It would be possible, even reasonable, to head back to his camp and eat some food, clean out his wounds which are by now swollen, burning, skin smooth and taut, and very badly infected. If using the Crystal fragments’ magic strains his physical body, then he needs to be in the best shape possible in order to be most productive afterwards. And he can’t die, can’t fail, because then who would be able to bring back Noct?

The carcass of the grootslang is rotting, its blood and decaying organs fermenting like sweet wine, pooling on the floor, in places ankle deep. Ignis falls to his knees and lets himself trust that he can find a fragment of the Crystal, that there’s some innate part of him that will always be guided towards Noct.

He wakes in his bed in the Citadel, where he’d lived when he’d moved in with his uncle. For a moment he’s sure he’s alone, and he startles, panicky, but then Noct sits down beside him.

‘Hey,’ Noct says. ‘Kinda weird, huh? I’ve barely been here before, even though you lived here how many years?’

‘Nine,’ Ignis says. He’s not entirely comfortable with Noct being here, though he’s not sure why. Ignis can’t tell if he wants to leave his room and find his uncle there in the room opposite, working at his desk like he always did, or if emptiness would be better. ‘Shall we go elsewhere?’

They leave, Noct’s hand on Ignis’ elbow even though Ignis walked down these halls every day for years. It’s all entirely empty.

‘Where to?’

‘Anywhere,’ Noct says, indulgently, as if he truly does have the power to do anything, be anywhere. Only now Ignis realises that he’d been afraid Noct might still be disapproving; receiving his forgiveness and good humour instead is a blessing. Ignis feels his heart lift in love.

They go to the gardens where they used to play, with the koi ponds that Noct had once fallen in, all those years ago. Noct insists on leading Ignis after he trips on a step, and Ignis flushes but doesn’t feel too bad. The warmth of Noct’s hand is more than enough to soothe any ruffled feathers.

The koi garden isn’t really quite Noct’s promise of _anywhere_ , but it’s pleasant nonetheless. Ignis wonders if he would prefer to be somewhere else, and decides not. The flourishing plants surround them, and even if Ignis can’t see them he can smell the foliage, taste the wet purity of the air and the earthy, healthy soil. There are birds, and the sun is warm overhead. As a child he’d mostly been interested in the fish, and the best spots for hiding from adults. Now he can’t help but feel a terrible loss that he’ll never get to see the gardens and appreciate them better than he had done.

They sit on a bench, pressed shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, knee to knee. Their linked hands rest in the dip between their legs.

What can he say? He’s already exhausted his questions. He doesn’t know how to continue.

He’s tired, and he thinks that sitting here with Noct, in silence, hand in hand, is enough.

Noct’s slow, steady breathing, the warmth of him, the relaxed press of his body, let Ignis know without having to ask that Noct feels the same, too.

Still, they can’t sit forever. Noct stirs a little and takes a breath, as if waking up or reaching a conclusion. ‘Ignis,’ he asks, ‘if I order you to stop, and give up trying to bring me back, would you?’

Another betrayal, but really, can Ignis say he didn’t expect it coming? It hurts, even as Noct’s thumb strokes the back of Ignis’ hand, bruising him heart-deep. ‘Yes,’ Ignis says, and that hurts too. ‘If it’s an order.’

Noct sighs and relaxes. ‘Okay,’ he says, but doesn’t order it. They continue to sit there.

Is there really no way to save him? It’s like grasping for the stars. Can he truly not take Noct’s sacrifice and reverse it, return him to life, make right what injustices the gods created in their cruelty and carelessness? There should be some way — a clever trick, a last-second twist in the story. It would only be what’s right. Ignis should be clever enough. He should love deeply enough. He should have done more, sooner. He should never have let Noct die in the first place.

Surely there’s a way. The world can’t be this cruel.

And now? Now, if Noct ordered him to — the last order Ignis would have from him — Ignis would have to leave the mine. He’d crawl out, if he had to. He’d wait obediently to be taken back to Hammerhead. Prompto would be there, and possibly Gladio, if he got wind of what Ignis was up to this time. Ignis would get medical treatment for his leg, which might never heal properly. Food and water, rest, frightened but ultimately unfounded nagging. This — his time with Noct, his last moments and memories with Noct — would pass like a dream. And then, the rest of his life, years piling on years.

‘Let me stay,’ Ignis says.

‘Really?’ Noct doesn’t sound surprised; he sounds more tired than anything. Ignis thinks, out of nowhere, that he sounds a little like his father. Somewhere above them a bird sings a brief melody.

He will have to grieve for Prompto and Gladio, and know that they’ll grieve for him. He’ll have let them down. They’ll have to live with knowing they couldn’t save him, like he couldn’t save Noct. He hopes they won’t do anything stupid, like try and retrieve his body. But at least they’ll have each other, and others beside.

‘If I’ve failed in my attempts to bring you back, and the alternative would be to return alone? Of course I’d want that, Noct.’

‘I can’t believe you,’ Noct says, and he sounds upset. ‘The whole point — I did it to save everyone. That includes you.’

‘You did save me,’ Ignis says. ‘Long enough for me to come and join you here.’

‘That doesn’t count,’ Noct says, unhappy amusement, and Ignis gathers him up in his arms, pulling him close. Noct takes a moment, then holds him back.

‘Let me stay,’ Ignis says.

They sit there in the dappled sunlight, surrounded by the garden plants. Eventually, Noct nods. ‘Okay,’ he says.

Ignis lifts Noct’s chin and kisses him. There’s a release in his chest, where his heart is, like a knot pulling loose and unravelling. He can feel it, an unbridled joy deep inside of him, tired but able to rest now, knowing for certain that he won’t wake up again in the cavern, searching for fragments.


End file.
